
FELICIELLA'S 
EASTER 



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Class J^5_35'&7_ 

Book lLLjo B L^t, 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



FELICIELLA'S EASTER 



FELICIELLA'S EASTER 



AND 



Some Other Simple Stories and Verses 
for the Season 



BY 



MARY LOUISE DUNBAR 



» > J » 1 ■. » 



CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS 
MCMIII 





THE LibRAKV OF 
CCfJGRESS, 






Two Copies Received 






FEB 10 1903 






. Copyright Entry 
OLASS ^ XXc. No. 






S- 1 <^ -i- 

COPY B, 




Copyright, igoj 


By Mary Louise Dunbar 






etet e «»f« 



UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
AND SON . CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 



Who an answer gets from the grave of friend? 

None know what its depths enfold: 
Is it life ? Is it death ? Beginning or end? 

Or nothing but cold and mould? 

A riddle eternal the world and breath ; 

Above us the giddy height ; 
Below ^ a horror of darkness and death ,• 

On the Altar a shadow* s blight. 

Translated from the Spanish of Munez de Arce. 



31 am tbe lI^e?urrection anb tfte Hife 

From the Word of God. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Feliciella's Easter i 

Resurrection ..'... ii 

Gretchen and the Lilies 13 

The Bells of Antwerp 27 

On the Mountain 31 

On Easter Day 45 



FELICIELLA'S EASTER 



FELICIELLA was climbing the steep stairs of 
the great chffs between Capri and Ana Capri. 
Ahhough there are in all five hundred and thirty- 
five steps, and some of them so fallen into decay as 
to give her quite a scramble over their ruins, Feliciella 
always preferred them to the new road winding about 
the perpendicular cliffs. It is a shorter way by the stairs, 
but Feliciella liked them because they were old and had 
served the Capri people for two thousand years. 

Her energetic bare feet had reached the castle of 
Barbarossa, the robber chieftain, now a long-deserted, 
hoary ruin. Here the steps were cut in the solid rock 
of a savage crag which descends vertically twelve hun- 
dred feet to the sea, on the other side. Below her, sea 
and sky and the village of Capri, snuggled in between 
great rocks, seemed steeped in rest. 

It has an oriental aspect, the little town, with its 
many-domed cathedral, which suggests a mosque. There 
are other little domes and arches of the small stuccoed 
dwellings, yellow, pink, light green, and white, clustered 
in picturesque confusion on a sort of terrace. Here and 
there a palm tree rose. 

The hillsides were misty with the gray-green of olives. 
The orange groves in their midst glistened in the sun- 
shine. There were ruins of an old villa of the wicked 



2 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

Tiberius near by. Even purple Vesuvius, across the 
pink and pearl water, was smoking languidly, as if in 
a pleasant dream. Ischia was a transparent soft blue, 
the opposite shore glistening silver. 

It was very evident that the heart of Feliciella was 
not in harmony with all this loveliness and peace. She 
had the famous beauty of the Capri girl. Low-browed, 
with rich color in her cheeks, dark eyes and dark, soft 
hair, which rippled and curled out of its heavy braids, 
she might, after all, have been a little disappointing 
to those who look for the traditional " sirens " and 
" goddesses " of Capri. With her proud, erect carriage, 
her willowy grace, great eyes, and fine color, she was 
certainly very good " material," out of which an artist 
could idealize a beautiful being. 

It was not every day that Feliciella had leisure for 
climbing the cliffs, and a seat at the old robber strong- 
hold, with the grand panorama of the bay of Naples 
open to her. You might see her often in a procession of 
girls as pretty as herself, bearing stones upon her grace- 
ful head to a new house building near the old Certosa of 
the thirteenth century, which is now soldiers' barracks. 
A thick cushion protecting the soft hair, upon each head 
rested two good-sized blocks of stone, which had been 
brought in a boat from the opposite shore. Not that 
there are not stones enough in Capri. But who would 
cut the stones, with so many of the young men away 
at the coral fishing, on the coast of Africa? It is true 
that nearly every block in the houses of Capri has been 
carried to its place on the pretty heads of the girls, for 
the same reason. 

Down on the Grande Marina, when the Naples boat 



FELICIELLA'S EASTER 3 

comes in, you might see other pretty Capri girls, doing 
even harder work than that. One with a heavy trunk on 
her head turns her laughing eyes on an amazed Ameri- 
can lady, and with a flash of her white teeth says half- 
defiantly : " I, facchino " (porter). She is a " siren," who 
marches along like an American foot soldier on parade. 
Another, with an Englishman's bath-tub on her head, 
could hardly pose for a *' goddess " just then, you see! 
Eight of these girls once started up the steeps to the 
village with a piano on their heads. They set it down 
to rest in the pretty locando, which looks out on a 
shimmering sea, enchanted truly; for near by are the 
very " rocks of the Sirens," of which Homer tells. An 
American lady there playfully opened it, and with a 
roguish glance at the girls, played gay dance music. 
The untired feet in an instant whirled in time to it, 
the supple bodies apparently as fresh as the sun-bright 
morning. 

Feliciella was as capable of severe activity as the rest 
of them, but of late she had been engaged as a model by 
an English artist. She posed by instinct, or it might be 
by inheritance of poise and grace, from generations of 
models. Feliciella was spending some of the unusual 
leisure hours of the late afternoon at the Capo di Monte, 
but with a troubled face; the corners of her mouth 
drooping with a hopeless sadness. Sometimes she started 
up from painful thoughts in a kind of frenzy, and 
clenched her brown hands desperately. Then she looked 
with longing to the sheer edge of the precipice, where 
it seemed so easy to throw one's self into the soft, quiet 
sea below. Truly Feliciella' s sorrow was no light one. 

Her happy girlhood had suddenly drifted into an 



4 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

atmosphere of suspicion, cruel, almost unbearable to her 
innocent heart. She had been trying earnestly to live a 
nobler, holier life, as marked out by the teachings of 
Fra Silvestro. In her childhood she had been taught a 
strange mixture of pagan superstition and mediaeval 
ritual. Feliciella still wore a little coral hand on her 
necklace of the same material to ward off " the evil eye." 
She had tried to do right in her childhood, partly through 
fear of the wicked Tiberius, in whose reign the dear 
Jesus had been crucified. She had seen the ruins of the 
twelve villas which he built in Capri, and shuddered at 
his crimes. Surely he might yet haunt the island. She 
called him *' Tiberio " in a low, terror-hushed voice. 

But Fra Silvestro had taught her of the life of the 
meek and lowly Jesus, and her simple, honest heart 
desired above all things to follow his example. Fiametta, 
who had always been a little envious of the sweetness 
and subtle charm of Feliciella' s fine and beautiful nature, 
and of the friends that her goodness and modesty had 
won her, scoffed at the change she saw in Feliciella : — 

" She thinks she is so much better than we! " " We 
shall have another saint in the calendar, greater than 
Santa Caterina, it seems." '' Bah ! I spit upon her ! " 
she had said, with a flash of her black eyes. 

The English artist wished to draw all .Feliciella's 
abundant hair into a loose coil, and fasten it with a silver 
bodkin which she borrowed for the purpose from San- 
tella. It was a choice one, an heirloom from several 
generations. What was Feliciella's consternation to find 
it missing one night on her return to her home. She 
lived with the good Amadeo and Maria, who had taken 
her into their humble house, a helpless orphan, and loved 



FELICIELLA'S EASTER 5 

her as their own. She returned their love and tenderness 
in full measure, and was, as Maria said, *' the light of 
their eyes and their sweet song bird." 

It is one of the wonders that the Capri girl never seems 
coarsened by her rough work, and Feliciella was the poem 
in their simple life. She told the misery of her loss to 
their faithful hearts, and with untiring zeal did they 
search with her for the silver pin. The sympathies of 
the English artist, too, impelled him to do all in his 
power to find it, especially as Feliciella, sleepless and 
wretched, was losing her poise and beauty as a model. 
Santella was inclined to be generous and to console the 
greater sorrow of Feliciella at her loss, but Fiametta 
was busy with malicious whispers. 

" Of course she knows where the bodkin is." " She 
is too good to be honest." " They are often so, these 
would-be saints." She dropped dark insinuations as to 
like sins of poor Feliciella in the past, and hinted, too, 
that she herself had most mysteriously lost a part of the 
dowry money she had saved, during a visit from Felici- 
ella. Fiametta's insinuations were repeated as actual 
facts. The atmosphere of distrust about her blighted the 
poor girl's life. 

Feliciella said to herself r " God, the dear Father, 
knows that I am guiltless. He will prove my innocence." 

But the dark shadow in which she walked grew deeper. 
Some of her dearest friends seemed to shrink from her 
and to guard their treasures from her. She grew ner- 
vous with a dread lest something should be missing and 
the blame fall upon her in this nightmare of misery in 
which she lived. The triumph of Fiametta over poor 
Feliciella' s position made her harder and more wicked, 



6 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

and she dared to increase the misery by finding little 
treasures of her friends in ways which made it possible 
to suspect Feliciella guilty. Powerless to right herself 
before the ingenious cruelty of her enemy, poor Feliciella 
flushed Hke a guilty one before the suggestive and some- 
times sneering remarks of the prejudiced ones. " She 
blushes w4th the sense of her own sin," said Fiametta. 

Ah! what sensitive soul can appear innocent in an 
atmosphere of cruel suspicion, with an honest heart 
horrified at the thought such impossible things could be 
believed ! Feliciella felt that she was becoming a weak 
victim to the wiles of the cruel Fiametta. " If Fra 
Silvestro were only here/' she sighed. But Fra Silvestro 
was a missionary, who went here and there as he was 
ordered, and she knew not where he was. 

Amadeo and Maria were true to their darling, and 
mourned over her paling cheeks and tear-stained eyes. 
Maria was only a donkey woman, whom you might see 
on the marina, or scaling the crags with her shaggy beast 
any day. She depended largely upon the English and 
American tourists for the few soldi she could earn in a 
day. She knew just two words of English. " Gallop, 
gallop, gallop,'' she would say, as with shining eyes and 
beaming smile she offered her shaggy donkey for the 
uses of the '' forestieri." The other English word, 
** good-by," she in some way mistook for a salutation. 
At her first glimpse of a foreigner she greeted him with 
" Good-by, good-by," in her soft Italian accent. Amadeo 
was too old to go to the coral fishing, but he made the 
tour of the island and the grottoes very carefully and 
safely in his boat, and offered his services at the hotels, 
Pagano and Quisiana, on mornings when the sea was 



FELICIELLA'S EASTER 7 

calm and safe. He was just as anxious when the sea 
was rough to suggest himself as a model in the same 
places, always explaining with a straightening of his 
broad shoulders, that ^' a German princess had once 
painted him." Simple Amadeo and Maria! who would 
have protected Feliciella from malice and injustice if they 
could. But to-day Feliciella found even their well-meant 
kindness irksome. 

She had climbed the stone stairs to Capo di Monte to 
be alone. Alas! some of the donkey girls, whom she 
passed, had closed their fingers before her face, with the 
sign Vhich in Naples she knew meant *' thief." Her 
cup was indeed full. 

It was Holy Week, and according to the custom of 
Capri not a bell was rung or a song sung; not a voice 
raised above a whisper in the whole island. To-morrow 
was Good Friday, and she very well knew that they were 
planning for the solemn procession of priests and people 
through the streets. It was the first time she had been 
left out of the interests of the town. To be sure, it was 
partly the fault of her shrinking self. But how could 
she meet the changed cold eyes of those she loved, and 
Fiametta's sarcastic, disdainful smile! She wanted to 
sob and shout her innocence. She, who would much 
rather suffer wrong than do it. She, who only longed 
to help others and could never have borne the thought 
of an injury to them. Why should she sit there 
apart from all the life she loved, alone on the cliff, 
with the black shadow of such a horrible suspicion 
upon her? 

It bruised her very soul. And she had asked the good 
God to help her. She shivered with loneliness and terror 



8 FELICIELLA^S EASTER 

at the thought that even he had forsaken her. She 
threw herself down on the hard stones and sobbed her- 
self almost into convulsions. Then gently there stole 
into her heart a sweet calm. She thought of One who 
had died, despised, forsaken, a man of sorrows, misun- 
derstood, maligned. She got up quietly and sought a 
little shrine in a cool, vine-draped niche in the great cliff 
close by. Again she threw herself down on the stones, 
but no longer in an abandon of grief. She had no words 
for the prayer of her heart. In utter silence her whole 
being went up to God. Her naked soul it was, which 
reached beyond all fear, all sorrow, all care, to the 
merciful One who had died and was risen. It was 
enough now that he knew her innocence and had sent his 
comforter. 

Long she lay there. Voices drew near. She heard 
them falter and grow silent, as in a dream. A gentle 
hand was laid upon her shoulder. Santella's soft cheek 
nestled close to her own burning one, as she raised her 
head. 

" Feliciella, dear, it is found, — the bodkin ! caught in 
the vines below the rustic bridge over the low orange 
grove at Hotel Pagano. It must have fallen from your 
hair when you bent over to speak to the artist that day. 
And, dearest, that is not all. Fra Silvestro came yester- 
day, and he has talked with the wicked Fiametta, and 
she has confessed that her dowry money was not lost. 
She hid it herself, the bad one ! " 

Santella was sobbing now in Feliciella' s arms. Maria 
was hiding her tears on the donkey's shaggy neck, whose 
shrewd ears pointed forward, as if he would like to know 
what all this meant. Amadeo had come, too, with the 



FELICIELLA^S EASTER 9 

good news, and stood looking on rather helplessly. In 
his eyes glistened something as bright as the little gold 
rings in his ears. But Feliciella's face was as radiant 
as the day. 

It was the solemn service of Easter eve in the Cathe- 
dral. The stillness of Holy Week had grown more 
devout each day, and now the low chants of priests and 
people, lying (as is the Capri custom on Easter eve) 
with faces down, flat upon the cold stone floor in the 
darkness, seemed but the breath of new life in that long, 
reverent silence. 

Each woman and girl had a little bird swathed in a 
soft handkerchief, which gave it liberty to breathe, while 
it made escape impossible. In the holy calm of those 
hours little fluttering hearts soon lost their terrors, and 
their presence at this time seemed a part of the worship, 
for this is also a Capri custom for Easter eve. At the 
first moment of the resurrection day, all the glad bells 
of the island swung and rang with the Easter joy. The 
organ pealed, the chants grew to hallelujahs, and, soar- 
ing over all in the great dim church, were hundreds of 
liberated birds, emblems of the freed soul. 

Feliciella, with Maria and Amadeo, stole quietly out 
amid the echoing hallelujahs, into the glorious moon- 
light. As she came down the great stone steps, her face 
radiant with joy and praise, she saw Fiametta crouching 
in a shadowy corner. There was a trembling of the smile 
on Feliciella's lips. For a moment it vanished. She 
stood irresolute. There came into her mind the words 
of the litany, ** Forgive our enemies, persecutors and 
slanderers, and turn their hearts." She stole forward 



lo FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

and put a warm, confiding, cordial hand into Fiametta's, 
and drew her with her down the steps. Through for- 
giveness the blessing of a broken, contrite heart came 
to Fiametta, and Feliciella, who had forgiven, entered 
into the full joy of her Lord. 



RESURRECTION 

A MILKWEED seed with its silken sail 
Blowing about in a wintry gale 
Asketh, "Oh, where is the Spring?'' 
A bluebird perched on an ice-bound tree 
Quavers and shivers his melody, 

"Ah, where is the Spring I sing?" 

But willows throw out their supple gold 
And " pussies " in mouselike gray unfold 

In the keen and biting air. 
There comes a day which rewards their faith 
When blooms in beauty the brown old earth 

In the sunshine warm and fair. 



II 



GRETCHEN AND THE LILIES 

ANTWERP had been unusually wide awake since 
early morning. The tall, quaint, gabled houses 
and narrow streets were alive with color. The 
old market place with its queer little carts drawn by 
dogs, the donkey wagons, the women running in and 
out with their white caps or picturesque beaver bonnets, 
all had a festive air. Even the sabots, kept in place on 
sturdy feet in some mysterious manner, clattered joy- 
ously. From old carved balconies and many mullioned 
windows, housekeepers had hung rich stuffs, remnants 
of sixteenth century magnificence. 

On tall Venetian masts outside the curbings, floated 
the national colors, and festooned between them were 
garlands of laurel, while on little tablets wreathed with 
bay leaves placed along the length of the columns, were 
the names of famous Flemish artists. 

From church spires, and towers, the Flemish flag was 
thrown to the breeze. The old public buildings, with 
their crocketed, and crow stepped gables, glowed with 
banners and pennons. It was the 12th of August, 1899, 
the beginning of the festivities which commemorate the 
three hundredth anniversary of the birth of the great 
painter Anthony Van Dyke. 

His beautiful face looked out from some point of van- 
tage every few steps. Little plaster busts of him were 
everywhere. They sold Van Dyke wine in the shops. 
But the glory of the day culminated in the Place Verte 

13 



14 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

that evening. Every twig and branch of the dusty old 
trees flamed with electric light, shining through all the 
colors of the rainbow, down upon a multitude of many 
colored heads below. Sparkling jets of flame spelled out 
the name of the great artist in the Flemish way, Antoon 
Van Dijck, Antwerp's glory that day. On the high 
stands the fine Belgian bands played. 

In the tinted light a child of about eight years, dressed 
in a simple white frock, with showers of golden hair 
falling on her shoulders, stepped out into the street from 
the crowd which filled the square and bordered the curb- 
ings, and danced in an ecstasy of delight before the smil- 
ing eyes which she had diverted to herself. 

Suddenly there was a hush in which she stood still, 
as if petrified. And then — the bells. For one whole 
hour nothing but the bells, playing rare carillons, and 
all that it is possible for bells to do in difficult elaborate 
music. 

All the smaller ones were clamoring, soaring, sobbing, 
shouting with joy, while great Carolus kept up his con- 
stant deep boom, boom, boom, beating on all hearts, until 
with a kind of pain, one thought what a grand thing it 
is to be a great artist. Great Carolus only rings for vic- 
tory. That night he was clanging solemn proclamation 
of the triumph of the great genius, who, born three hun- 
dred years ago, still lived. While in soft waves of rich 
melody with an undertone of soulful music, the other 
bells rang of the gladness of the world in such a 
victory. 

The child did not think all this, as she stood spell- 
bound in the street where she had been dancing. But 
some presentiment of the joy of life tempered with un- 



GRETCHEN AND THE LILIES 



15 



known sorrow mingled for her with the rippling, tink- 
ling melody, and the low deep pathos of the bells. She 
did not see that the horse of one of the mounted ge7i- 
darmes, frightened at the unusual sights and sounds, was 
rushing down the street. The man did his best to turn 
him when almost upon her, but the frantic creature, 
quite unmanageable, was backing down upon her, when 
with a stifled shriek a young girl sprang from the crowd, 
and with one strong movement of her arm, swept the 
child out of danger, but fell herself under the cruel 
hoofs. Only a few of the entranced people saw the acci- 
dent, for an unmounted gendarme rushed into the little 
crowd about her, picked up the poor trampled crushed 
form and placing it upon a handcart which had been 
left by the curbing, wheeled it away to the hospital, fol- 
lowed by two weeping friends, a golden-haired child 
clinging to their skirts. The large blue eyes of the un- 
fortunate girl were closed, the face ghastly white against 
her coral necklace, the one bit of finery in her coarse, 
clean dress. 

*' She is like the dead," said the nurses at the hospital, 
while the doctor gravely shook his head. The child 
crouched by the bed sobbing. A kind Sister of Charity 
who had made as easy as possible on the bed the poor, 
bruised, broken body, bent over the child and tenderly 
asked her : 

" Where is your home, dear ? " 

Only sobs answered her at first, but the question re- 
peated, the child raised her head, and putting her little 
hand on the pale one of the stricken girl, murmured : 

" With Gretchen." 

iThe Sister gently led her into a clean marble-floored 



i6 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

room outside the ward, and finally drew from her, her 
story. 

Since her mother and father were buried out of her 
sight, Gretchen had been her sister-mother, she said. 
They lived in one room in a narrow street near the 
wharves. 

" Gretchen sewed for a tailor." 

" Gretchen was very tired, for she had worked every 
day, and far into the night, for a long time " on some of 
the rich mediaeval costumes which were to be worn in the 
grand procession representing centuries of the history 
of Antwerp and its art. 

" Gretchen had been so tired that she had fainted that 
day over her work." ^' But it was all done now, and 
they had commenced the holiday to which they had 
looked forward so long." " They were to have one 
whole play day, and perhaps they would see the king, 
who was coming with his pretty daughter to the fete." 
There was no one in the wide world for her but 
Gretchen, and she sobbed still more violently when told 
that she would have to sleep that night with one of the 
Sisters in her little cell, so far from Gretchen. 

" It will be a case for the Bureau de Bienfaisance 
to-morrow," said another Sister who was also listening 
to the sad story. 

The next morning Gretchen opened her eyes and 
tried to smile at Stephanie when they brought her to 
say good-bye. Poor little Stephanie, who tried to keep 
back her sobs, as she put her forlorn little hand over the 
quiet one on the bed. She could not even kiss the pale 
lips, for Gretchen, who could not move without agony, 
must be kept very still until the doctor should see her. 



GRETCHEN AND THE LILIES 17 

He came gently to the bedside, and as tenderly as he 
could, examined the pain-racked body. He looked sadly 
into the beautiful blue eyes raised with such pathetic in- 
quiry to his, and said: 

" You will have to keep very still for a while, my 
dear child." 

But when he had gone into the clean little marble- 
floored room with Sister Marie, he said: 

"" She will never walk ; and then — it will be very 
severe, the suffering." 



II 



It was five o'clock in the afternoon of the day before 
Christmas, too early for the usual " Waits " to go about 
with their Christmas carols. A light snow was falling 
in the streets of Antwerp, — those streets which never 
lose their mediaeval aspect. 

Up and down in the most frequented ways, under the 
glimmering storm bleared lamps, wandered two chil- 
dren, a boy and a girl. They were singing an old carol, 
with the refrain: 

*' Rejoice, our Saviour was born 
On Christmas day in the morning." 

From under the girl's little blue hood fell a shower of 
golden curls. The clear, childish treble, sweet and 
thrilling, touched the hearts of all who passed, and coin 
after coin fell into the boy's brown leather purse which 
he held open, as in a deeper voice he alternated with 
Stephanie (for it was she of the long gold hair), roll- 
ing out in a brave manner: 



i8 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

" At Christmas be merry and thankful withal, 
And feast thy poor neighbors, the great and the small." 

" So much money for Gretchen," said the girl as she 
held the purse open with little blue pinched fingers, and 
peeped into its depths. 

" Silver money for Gretchen, Gottlieb." 

On they went in the misty evening, still singing the 
simple song until Gottlieb said: 

" It is enough ; the mother will be anxious." 

" She will not blame us that we sang in the streets 
without her knowledge, will she, Gottlieb? when it is 
all for Gretchen, and all we could do for Gretchen, 
Gottlieb." 

" But we 'd better go home now," answered the boy, 
as with hurried feet they passed into a little square by a 
hoary old church, and were lost in a tipping old house 
on the other side, whose lighted windows spoke of 
humble cheer and comfort. It was the home which the 
Bureau of Bienfaisance had provided for the little Ste- 
phanie with a good burgher and his wife, who loved 
her next to Gottlieb, their own child. 

From the good mother Stephanie had learned many 
things in the Bible which she did not understand fully 
from the teaching in the great Cathedral whose solemn 
grandeur was almost oppressive to her. It was sweeter 
to sit at the feet of the kind mother with Gottlieb and 
learn about the good Jesus. 

Tears streamed from the eyes of Stephanie when she 
was told of what He suffered for us all. 

"It is Gretchen," she would say, " who also suffers 
for me; I can do so little for Gretchen." 



GRETCHEN AND THE LILIES 19 

Stephanie seemed to live only in the desire to bring 
some brightness to her sister on visiting day at the 
hospital. Every childish treasure was hoarded for that 
time; every bit of sweetmeat or fruit put quietly away 
in a little box in her room to wait until that day when 
she would carry it to Gretchen. 

" Poor Gretchen ! It is her spine, you know, Gottlieb, 
which is hurt. I know that the pain tears her like a 
wolf, Gottlieb; it seems as if Gretchen's pain would 
kill me when I see her bite her lips to keep back the 
groans. Why should I enjoy the blessed sunshine and 
my two feet that can run and dance when Gretchen, 
my sister-mother, has to lie always on her little white 
bed in the long ward where so many people are sick and 
suffering? " 

" Gottlieb, it was for me that Gretchen was hurt. It 
is for me she suffers," Stephanie was saying with her 
eyes full of tears as they went into the cozy living room, 
with its quaint old furniture dark with age, brightened 
by shining brasses. A log was burning on the great 
hearth of the fireplace. It had been religiously lighted 
by old Hans from the brand left from the last Christmas 
fire which had been carefully hoarded for this purpose. 

*' Let us sit down in the firelight and count Gretchen's 
money," said Stephanie. 

Gottlieb poured it out on the old stone hearth, click- 
ing as it fell, and glittering in the light from the burn- 
ing log. 

" A gold piece ! " exclaimed the children together. 

" Twenty francs," said Gottlieb holding it up before 
Stephanie's eyes. 

"Who put it in the purse?" said Stephanie. '* If 



20 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

some one made a mistake we shall have to give it back ; 
and oh! Gottlieb, it would buy Gretchen so many nice 
things!" 

" There are ten francs in small silver pieces besides,'' 
said Gottlieb. ** I think," he said gravely after a while, 
" that it was the American gentleman who put the gold 
piece in the purse. The one, Stephanie, who smiled 
upon you so, and smoothed your curls with his hand. 
Perhaps he has a little girl in his home over the sea." 

" I hope his little girl is n't dead," said Stephanie. " I 
wish the American gentleman knew how glad I am that 
I can take white grapes to Gretchen, the grapes that are 
so cool, and some flowers every visiting day now." 

" It would make him very happy ; for you know the 
good book says, ' It is more blessed to give than to 
receive.' " 

"We must spend the money very carefully," she 
added. " Perhaps the mother will help us to be wise 
about it, Gottlieb." 

" I am most as big as a man," said Gottlieb. " You 
really do not need any one but me, Stephanie," he added 
with a pompous, patronizing air, putting the purse in 
his pocket in a business-like way. 

The mother called them to their simple supper of 
bread and milk and cheese, in the clean tiled dining- 
room, and gave them large stockings to hang by the 
chimney for Kriss Kringle's gifts. Then together the 
children went up the dark stairs to the sleeping room, 
whose windows looked out upon tiled roofs where doves 
cooed in the morning, and into which the bells rained 
down their silvery music every quarter of an hour. 

"Gottlieb," said Stephanie in a soft whisper, "per- 



GRETCHEN AND THE LILIES 21 

haps it was the Christ Child who put it into the heart 
of the good American to give us the gold piece." 

** God bless you," said the mother at the door of the 
room as the children put up their faces for the good- 
night kiss and they made their little formal obeisances 
of curtsey and bow. As they closed the door they 
heard Hans, who was not Flemish, but a German who 
had lived a long time in England, singing lustily an old 
English song: 

" Come bring with a noise, 
My merrie, merrie boys, 

The Christmas log to the firing : 
While my good dame, she 
Bids ye all be free, 

And drink to your heart's desiring." 

Ill 

The winter had passed. The spring sunshine had 
warmed and thrilled the trees and grass into life, and 
the Easter-tide was near. Something of the fragrance 
and beauty of the time stole into the hospital ward. 
Gretchen had been weaker of late. The pain was con- 
stantly gnawing now, and sometimes gave her very 
sharp thrusts. She had become very brave, especially 
when Stephanie came. The little girl did not dream of 
all that the self-control of her patient smile cost her 
sister. But in all the pain and weariness the soul of 
Gretchen was growing into " the perfect peace which 
passeth all understanding." At first she had watched 
the doves preening their feathers in the sunshine by the 
window, and longed to fly away with them from all the 
suffering and to be at rest. 



22 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

" But, Stephanie," she said one day to the little girl 
who brought her usual offering of fruit and flowers, 
and who had anxiously asked, " Dear Gretchen, are you 
not so tired of lying here?" "remember that the real rest 
is within us. It is when we have God in our hearts, 
and so have the beginning of Heaven here in this hos- 
pital bed as well as anywhere. Perhaps it is nearer 
Heaven, for God's love is always closer and more real 
to those who need it most and who are shut in with it. 
He has said in the good book, * Without me ye can do 
nothing,' but with Him one can do and bear all things." 

" But oh ! Gretchen, you are bearing my pain," sobbed 
Stephanie. 

With a perfect love shining in her eyes, Gretchen 
clasped the trembling little hand stretched out convul- 
sively to her. 

" My darling, my dear one ! never think of it in that 
way again. Just remember how I lie here in the long 
days, and the longer nights, with a great gladness and 
thankfulness that you are safe, and will live to be a 
blessing to the world. Jesus Christ taught us, dear, 
that happiness is not in getting things, and in having 
things, but in giving; and it is such a joy to love, 
Stephanie! Such a happiness to have saved a loved 
one from danger! Look in my eyes, child, and know 
that I am glad every hour of every day that it is I who 
lie here, not you. Remember it, darling! Would you 
take that joy away from me? " 

Easter Eve Stephanie had come with her gifts, — a 
chrysalis that a lady had told her was just ready to 
burst into a beautiful butterfly, and three stalks of half- 
blown Easter lilies. 



GRETCHEN AND THE LILIES 23 

On Good Friday, in the great Cathedral, where the 
altars were draped in black, and the story of the death 
on the cross was told, she had sat with the grand organ 
music sobbing and sighing in her ears, keeping time to 
fear ; for " I think Gretchen too is dying for me," she 
said to herself. The good mother tried to teach her 
from the chrysalis and the stalks of opening lilies the 
hope and promise of the resurrection, and the life 
eternal. 

" But oh ! Gretchen," she sobbed over those same 
lilies, as she put them into the thin hand, " you grow 
so pale and weak! I think you will not only suffer for 
me, but die for me." 

Something of '* the rapture of the skies " lighted the 
thin face as Gretchen roused to say, "And to die is 
gain." 

The Sister who stood by said, " Remember how the 
Christ, the God man, said after His resurrection, ' I 
am He that liveth and was dead and am alive for 
evermore.' " 

" He that was dead said it," whispered Gretchen. " If 
you do not understand it, Stephanie, keep your heart 
from murmuring, and lift it to Him who will so fill 
your life that you will believe it. Dear Stephanie, I am 
so glad that I have had you to love. Love is such a 
sweetness in our life here; and now I go soon to the 
Immortal Love, where we shall meet sometime. Take 
one of these lilies and see it open, my darling, and know 
that into greater sweetness and purity and beauty my 
poor life will open soon." 

Stephanie had gone away quieted, and Gretchen had 
been very still the rest of the day. 



24 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

Easter morning dawned clear and bright. Gretchen 
had slept but little through a night of pain. Sleep had 
been denied also to the sufferer in the next cot, and in a 
low whisper she had said to Gretchen, who was very near : 

" I used to believe that the sun danced on Easter 
morning. Old Bertha told me so; and when Bertha 
was young, she says all the fires in the village were put 
out on Easter eve, that the sun as it danced in the sky 
might rekindle them. We cannot watch for it, Gretchen, 
because the shutters are closed.'* 

Gretchen only smiled luminously. In a huge fireplace 
at the end of the ward where the girls lay, the old log 
had burned to ashes, and it was down the chimney that 
the day entered that morning, flooding the dead embers 
with a square of light which flickered and flamed in 
such a glory that it seemed as if the old superstition 
were really true. 

Then the nurse opened the shutters, and the full re- 
splendence of rose and pearl and pale gold of the morn- 
ing burst upon them. 

Gretchen murmured her prayer, and lay very still for 
a moment, trying to keep back the tears that would 
trickle through her long eyelashes. The lilies by the 
side of her bed were wide open now, and the smile came 
back to her lips as she saw them. But she was strangely 
tired that morning. Her eyelids sank down even before 
the beauty of the lilies, though her lips smiled still with 
all the meaning that they had breathed into her soul. 

When the good nurse stood by the little bed she 
almost thought the marble face was that of the dead, 
until the blue eyes opened, and looked unutterable joy 
and peace. 



GRETCHEN AND THE LILIES 25 

Very tenderly the nurse smoothed the soft hair and 
bent her ear low for the feeble words. 

" Tell Stephanie that I shall be strong, and straight, 
and free from pain in the beautiful land, with my risen 
Lord. Tell her I love her! Immortal Love," she 
murmured. 

In the other beds of the ward there seemed a con- 
sciousness of some change in Gretchen, and leaning on 
elbows, or turning on pillows, the patient sick eyes were 
directed towards her bed. The Sister of Charity took 
the branches of snowy lilies and laid them on Gretchen' s 
breast. Then she saw that in the silent dark of the 
night the chrysalis had burst, and a beautiful golden 
butterfly had settled upon the white petals of a lily. 
She held it up before the dim eyes of the dying girl, 
then lifted it that all might see, repeating solemnly : 

" He that hath the Son of God hath life, and He that 
hath not the Son hath not life." 

The butterfly still perched upon the exquisite lily with 
wavering ecstatic wings. When she laid them again 
upon Gretchen' s breast, her soul had entered into the 
Eternal Life. 

" Kyrie Eleison, 
Christe Eleison," 

rang the bells. And Stephanie, who went home from 
the hospital late that afternoon with a stalk of open 
lilies in her hand, saw men meet and then greet each 
other in the old Flemish, Easter fashion: 

"Christ IS Risen." 

" He is Risen." 



THE BELLS OF ANTWERP 

I 

SWING! Ring! Bells in the steeple, 
Counting the moments from sun to sun ; 
Ring! Sing! tell to the people, 
Throbbing, persistent, how time runs on. 

A rippling, tinkling melody sweet, 
That might be the fall of fairy feet, 
Or the joy of life in a glad heart-beat. 

Waves of music, mellow and rare, 
Gently pervading the ambient air, 
Like the peace of a full soul after prayer. 

Music soft in a silvery shower 
Falls from the daring beautiful tower, 
While low and deep is an undertone 
Thrilling the heart like a sigh or moan. 

The sob of sorrow, the wail of loss, — 
Questions profound that the spirit toss. 
Listen ! Life's mystery beats and swells, 
On and on in the notes of the bells. 

Ring! Sing! Bells in the steeple. 
Counting life's heart throbs one by one; 
Swing! Ring! and comfort the people, 
Bearing life's burdens from sun to sun. 
27 



28 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

II 
Once Antwerp was proud and grand and gay, 
And stuffs and jewels in rich array 

Her laden galleons brought; 
Magic in iron and wonders in woods. 
Tapestries softer than Orient goods. 

Her cunning workmen wrought. 
She handed on to the glowing West 
Treasures which Venice with careful quest 

Found in the radiant East. 
Her artists were great and true and bold, 
Her nobles and burghers had gold untold; 

Like a prince was every priest. 
Venice she rivalled as Queen of the Sea; 
In every water her sails spread free. 

But Netherland burghers all agreed 
That faith and thought should be also freed; 
• And the darkest page of a bigoted age 
Was written here in a despot's rage. 

Burned hot and deadly his cruel fire, 
Clanked the chains of his fiendish ire. 
Dark cells shuddered with tortures dire, 

A fury of Death no mercy knows. 

Till out of their terror, wrongs, and woes, 

An outraged people in might arose. 

Who can feel in the peace of to-day, 
The stress and strain of the awful fray? 



THE BELLS OF ANTWERP 29 



III 

Oh, Gothic spire! In your hidden fire, 
Flamed upward in lines which never tire, 
The yearning and dreaming of men aspire ! 

Raised and carved by worshipping hands, 
Love's offering of service fair, it stands. 
Carrying the bells, with their magic spells, 
Through the fateful years, the story tells. 

On through four centuries storm and calm 
They have rung unchanging pean and psalm — 
Though wild in the pauses, the tocsin's alarm. 

That God was over them all, and in 
The clanging, clamoring roar and din, 
Men knew in a faith complete, sublime; 
For liquid and mellow the curfew's chime, 
The carols of Christmas soar and swell. 

The chimes of Easter, joy foretell. 
Though deep and strong is the battle tide 
And riven banners still flaunt in pride. 
Till over the city, and over the sea, 
Great Carolus booms of victory. 

Then Ring! Sing! Bells in the steeple, 
God never forgets the world, you know; 
Swing! Ring! tell to the people. 
Calmly He reigns though tempests blow. 



30 FELICIELLA^S EASTER 



IV 

A RIPPLING, tinkling melody sweet, 

Waves of music mellow repeat, 

" God never forgets the world below ! '* 

Falling softly in silver showers 
Marking life's changing, throbbing hours, 
The bells of Antwerp swing and sing, 
Flooding the world with hope they ring. 

Chime! Rhyme! Bells in the steeple; 
Ring out war with its wild-eyed woe, 
Swing ! Sing ! pray with the people 
God hasten his peace to his world below! 



ON THE MOUNTAIN 

THE " Colleen Bawn " was dead in the village of 
Lomaneaugh. Kilgarven, Killarney, and Ken- 
mare mourned for the pride of East Kerry. 
tWho so light of foot in the cottage dances, or so blithe 
at the hay-making, and the Christmas and Easter fetes? 
Her hair was red-gold in its massive braids ; the milk 
of the dun cow and the roses of June mingled in the color 
of her sweet face. The great blue eyes of her seemed 
sometimes to be looking out at another world; shining 
they were like stars, though they darkened and twinkled 
with the laugh, when the boys and girls frolicked ; for a 
Kerry man is as handy with his jokes as with his fists. 
iWhen the trouble came to any one in the village Kathleen 
would " Listen with her eyes " as well as with her ears, 
said the people, and would give them many a tender 
word, and mayhap a helping hand. " God rest her soul," 
said the old people in the chimney corners. " The Holy 
Saints comfort us for the loss of the sweetest lass of 
them all." 

The women had gathered in the shadow of the church, 
after the beautiful body had been laid in the consecrated 
ground close by. Borne on the shoulders of the young 
men of the village to the grave, the green turf covered 
her now. 

" And Michael O'Sullivan was one of thim," said a 
portly woman, smoothing her hair, and setting the 

31 



32 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

shawl straight on her head, " the foine tall shtrapping 
young fellow who loved her wid all the veins of his 
heart. He 'd a shmart bit of land too to make her a good 
home. The eyes of him glinted loike steel, and the feet 
and the leg of him were foine. But it was the long, bent 
body that he had when he left the churchyard. Eh ! the 
Colleen Bawn was a jool he '11 not foind the loike of in 
Ameriky, where they do say he be going. The wake of 
her was shuperb, and they had keeners from Kilgarven 
and Killarney, — the best ould ones in Kerry, for the 
father would have everything in the ould way, so that the 
praises of the vartues of Kathleen went out day and 
night until the burying was done. She looked like an 
Angel on her white bed with the roses sprinkled over her, 
and they laid her decently with candles and all. But it 
was Norah, the sister, who would not lave her at all, 
living or dead, but who sobbed and shivered the day and 
the night, savin' when the Mass was said, and then she 
sat like one in a dhream ; and she keeps very quite now 
all the time; they cannot make her spake one word." 

*' Shure," said a young woman with a black shawl over 
her head, **niver a widdy grieved for * Himself as Norah 
for Kathleen Mavourneen." 

'' Oh, musha ! be quite, will yez. There is Norah on 
the fresh grave of her this blissed minute. The Saints 
defind her, or she will die there of the could, the damp, 
and the grief." 

Far into the night Norah was still lying there under 
the stars, until the father and mother came, and with sobs 
and entreaties led her away. But every day as soon as 
she had helped the mother to make the cottage decent, 
and peeled the potatoes for dinner, still silent, Norah 



ON THE MOUNTAIN ^3 

went the length of the village street to the churchyard, 
and threw herself on the grave of Kathleen. 

" Oh, hone ! " sighed the women in the cottage ; " the 
poor dumb thing is paler and waker ivery day, wid her 
eyes looking deeper than ever wid the misery that is in 
them." 

The young people were afraid to speak to her ; and as 
she grew more and more like a spirit with the grief, they 
crossed themselves when she passed, and went before the 
crucifix in the cottage to pray for the repose of her soul. 
"The poor craythur; God give her rest," said the 
grandmothers in the chimney corner. 

" It is Michael O' Sullivan that is braver and better for 
his grief," said Father Skerry. 

The good priest did not tell of the hours that he had 
wrestled in spirit with the heart that was crushed with 
grief, and wild with the pain of it : or of that one mid- 
night hour in the churchyard, when the strong man's 
eyes were opened to the truth, and life and death were 
reconciled with the hope of the blessed hereafter. 

" Norah McCarthy will die," said Michael to Paddy 
O'Rourke, one morning. '* Shure it is myself that has 
been planning a pilgrimage to the chapels at Gougane 
Barra, and twelve of the boys and girls will be going 
a week the day." 

" It ' s a lone hard way over the mountain and over 
the bog land of the valley. The rocks are wild and 
shteep, and ye must be careful to keep the path or ye '11 
get 'clifted.' But Father Skerry, the Saints presarve 
him, says there's a nine- fold blessing for those who 
climb the rugged wild mountain, and track the bog land 
to pray at the nine little chapels beside the small church 

3 

LofC. 



34 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

at Gougane Barra. And it's meself that'll timpt poor 
Norah to go with us to pray for the soul's rest of Kath- 
leen, though it 's quite onnecessary and onreasonable to 
pray for the angels in Heaven, I think. It's Norah' s 
own beshor rowed self that she should pray for, shure ! " 

The morning of the 8th of August saw fifteen lads and 
lasses start from the pretty village of Lomaneaugh, and 
all of the people out of their houses to see them depart : 
while Father Skerry raised his hand in blessing as they 
passed him by the peat stack, at the end of the single 
village street, where they turned towards the moun- 
tain, whose crags, precipices, and gray boulders seemed 
tumbled down by the hand of one of the legendary Irish 
giants. There were two large baskets of luncheon borne 
by those stalwart lads, Michael O'SulHvan and Paddy 
O'Rourke. The lasses would have enough to do with 
lifting their gowns out of the way of the gay blossomed 
thorny gorse and springy bogs. 

" It 's a good tin mile over the heather, the rocks, and 
the bogs to the lone lake and the lone island," said Paddy, 
*' and every colleen and every gossoon will have to do 
the best he can for himself, barrin' what the boys can 
do for both." 

They went along gayly in the sun-bright morning. 

" I went out of the door wid my right fut fur good 
luck," said one of them. 

" And I 've a lucky shamrock that 's got four leaves 
tied round my neck wid a thread," said another. 

" Indade, the ould shamrock wid three leaves is much 
betther for you," said another. " Did n't the good St. 
Patrick tache the king at Tara the lesson of the Blissed 
Thrinity from the little three-leaved shamrock ? " 



ON THE MOUNTAIN 35 

The way at first led through green fields fragrant with 
the new-mown hay, yellow and brown in the mows now, 
upon the emerald plain. The dew was on the grass, and 
wild poppies and daisies glowed in the barley fields. 
Here a bit of a cabin by the road, black with the peat 
smoke inside, had little flowers and green things spring- 
ing from the thatch of the roof. The roses which had 
blossomed it into beauty in June could be counted by 
their deep crimson hips now, and scarlet haw berries 
brightened the thorn hedges. There were hedgerows 
of the hazel and arbutus by the grassy pastures where 
the small cattle were feeding. The wild convolvulus 
rioted here and there, while the honeysuckle sent out its 
subtle, all pervading fragrance. The cabbages and onions 
in the untidy kitchen gardens showed soft color in the 
morning sunshine. 

There were two miles of pleasant pastoral scenes 
ere they reached the steep mountain. Rough rocks and 
tangled gorse made the way difficult, or the heather 
softened it and offered a tempting couch of rest, in whose 
purple depths it was easy to dream of the fairy folk. 
Their landmark was an old thatched shed halfway up 
the mountain. Danger lurked in every step from the 
way indicated by that. These pilgrims did not while the 
journey with ghostly counsel, or solemn meditation, but 
enlivened it with sweet Irish songs, rolling out " The 
Wearin' o' the Green " in the loneliest spots. Michael 
and his sister Aileena kept the silent Norah a little 
apart with themselves, but were pleased to see that the 
air and the exercise were bringing the color into her 

cheeks. 

At the very top of the mountain they stood in the clear 



36 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

sunshine, among the jagged rocks, and looked down the 
valley to the little lake, and the small island with its tiny 
church and nine chapels under the old yews and rowan 
trees, and off to the blue serene water of Bantry Bay. 
Here something of the meaning of the day came to them, 
uninterrupted by the careless laughs, and snatches of 
song which floated to them from the rest of the party. 
But Norah was not ready for words yet. The instinct 
of kindly hearts allowed nature's stillness and the sweet 
influences of earth and sky to brood, soothe, and comfort 
the stricken heart. 

Once upon the bog land of the valley their difficulties 
were beyond expectation. Every step sank in the black 
mud under the coarse, yellow-green grass. But an Irish 
peasant maiden has a happy-go-lucky way of reconciling 
herself even to a bog land. *' We '11 dispinse widout 
em," said one, as the shoes and stockings came off. Up 
came the skirts quite out of the way, and with rosy faces 
tip tilted, on they went. 

Now a pilgrim knee deep, and sinking fast in a soft 
quaking place, must be rescued. " Niver a bit we mind,'* 
they say. Was not the penance of the journey to be 
performed amid jagged rocks, rolling stones, and prickly 
whin bushes ? And now it was supreme in black springy 
bog mud. 

'* It is n't agrayable," said one. 

" But it '11 make Barney McGee quite dacent," an- 
swered another. 

" Faix, it '11 do the soul of him good," laughed a blue- 
eyed girl. 

" Whisht ! when she gives her attinshun to it, any girl 
can be a blathering fule," answered Barney, as he took 



ON THE MOUNTAIN 37 

the teaser with one strong arm and swung her most 
unexpectedly over a mud hole. 

" It 's an avil spirit he has which do be always in mis- 
chief," asserted the pouting victim. " Bad cess to his 
impidence! " 

" Shure Michael O' Sullivan looks like a tinant on rint 
day," she continued. 

" Ma service to yez," answered Michael, smoothing his 
forehead. 

" Oh ! and shure he 's as perlite as a Frenchman ; one 
of the rale quality," shouted Paddy O'Rourke. 

" Shure and I 'd loike some praties and milk, and a 
herrin' for a bit of mate," said Barney, as they came to 
terra firma. '' Spakin' ginerally, I 'd take whatever I 
can git." 

A few moments brought them to the border of the 
lake, where their thorough ablutions (which included 
their feet) being finished, they sat down to a substantial 
luncheon. 

" Faith, it 's moighty improvin', the mate and the 
dhrink," said Barney. 

There fell upon the company an expectant hush as 
Michael O' Sullivan rose and gravely said: 

'' On yon little island Gougane Barra, Fin-Bar lived 
in his small cell almost fourteen hundred years ago. 
Although it was himself who founded Cork, and was its 
first bishop, he was that humble that he came to the lone 
island to be alone with his God, to confiss his sins, and 
to pray for the wisdom, faith, and goodness to carry on 
his work among men. Let us do to-day as the loikes of 
him would do. Let us pray humbly to that God for 
whose worship, like St. Fin-Bar, we have come to the 



38 FELICIELLA^S EASTER 

quite here, crossing the crags of the mountain and the 
bogs of the valley." 

One at a time, each with rosary in hand, they passed 
over to the island on a slight, narrow bridge, and knelt 
reverently before each altar with bowed heads. It was 
an impressive scene when for an hour and a half the 
devotions continued in this lonely spot, surrounded by 
the tall, wild Caha mountains. How much of the sense 
of human need, and the love of the All Father was in 
the worship, and how much of an old superstition in a 
new form, who can tell ? But the strong face of Michael 
O' Sullivan was transfigured with faith and hope. Out 
of the mystery of life and sorrow he had entered into 
the Holy of Holies, and it was easy to draw near to the 
Father in Heaven now at any time. 

He and his sister supported Norah between them, and 
watched her pitifully as she silently passed her beads 
through her thin fingers. Then with a convulsive sob, 
she threw herself on the ground and wept with a passion 
of grief. 

" The heart of her will not break now, shure," said 
Michael ; " it 's the tears will heal its bruises : God rest 
her soul." 

" Dear Aileena, forgive me," she said at last. 

With reassuring hands they led her into the little 
church. A young priest who had come to the island 
before them, and who had finished his devotions, was 
just passing out, and detained them to talk about the 
island and St. Fin-bar. He then showed them the sunken 
cross on the grave of Fin-bar. Speaking of the beauty 
of the mountain-circled lake and island, the priest quoted 
the lines of O'Callanan, whose grave he pointed out to 
them under a Celtic cross: 



ON THE MOUNTAIN ^g 

" There is a green island in lone Gougane Barra 
Where Alleluias of song rush forth as an arrow; 
In deep valley Desmond a thousand wild fountains 
Come down to that lake from their homes in the mountains : 
There grows the wild ash, and the time stricken willow 
Looks chidingly down on the mirth of the billow, 
As, like some gay child its sad monitor scorning, 
It brightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning. 

" And its zone of dark hills, oh ! to see them all bright'ning 
When the tempest flings out its red banner of lightning, 
And the waters rush down mid the thunder's deep rattle 
Like clans from the hills at the voice of the battle : 
And brightly the fire-crested billows are gleaming, 
And wildly from Maylough the eagles are screaming ; 
Oh ! where is the dwelling in valley or highland 
So meet for a bard as this lone little island ? " 



Michael did not notice that the rest of the party 
had gone carelessly on without them. But quite uncon- 
cernedly the three pursued their way, talking of the 
island, the worship, and the humble duties and simple 
pleasures of their peasant life. In passing the row of 
stones which marked the ruin of an old rath, Norah 
whispered : 

" Let us be quite here lest we disturb the good people." 

" Och ! the family of the chieftain who once lived here 
have long been under the sod, shure," said Michael. 
'' The dhun or rampart which went round the houses has 
long since fallen, and there is no remnant of the sun- 
chamber of the wife of the chieftain on the top of the 
dhun." 

'' But, Michael, it 's yourself knows that it 's the fairy 
folk I mean." 

"What fairies, Norah McCarthy?" asked Michael. 



40 FELICIELLA^S EASTER 

" And faith, Michael O'Sullivan, it 's yerself is an 
innocent, indade, to pretend not to know of the little 
people no longer than your finger, who can grow to giants 
in their anger." 

" And what is the dress, and the face of them, Norah 
Acushla?" asked Michael, delighted to hear the note of 
ready interest in Norah' s voice again. 

" Faith, and it *s to yerself that the Sun Duble 
Macuola, the wise woman, has told of the fairy maidens 
in foine white gowns, with the loose soft hair, which 
the fairy matrons bind with a golden band on top of 
their heads; and the little elves in jackets of green, and 
white breeches and stockings. And if the fairy wears 
a hat," continued Norah, in a low voice, " it is the flower 
blossom." 

" And did not the Sun Duble Macuola, the wise one, 
tell the biys to pull off their hats, and take the pipe out 
of their mouths, and say, ' God save ye ladies and gintle- 
men,' when they went by the Raths where the good 
people live now ? " asked Norah, looking at Michael 
reproachfully. But Michael only smiled with the light 
in his eyes, at the gibe. 

It was not until the bog land of the valley had been 
passed, and they were well up the mountain, that the 
fog which had been gathering settled thickly around 
them. They could only see a dim outline of each other. 
Michael pushed his stick before him, until it touched a 
large rock. Bidding the girls take hold of one end of 
a rope which he produced from his pocket, and to stand 
without moving at all until he should return to them, he 
went on a little way, keeping a hold on the rope himself, 
then went back to say: 



ON THE MOUNTAIN 41 

" We have lost our way intirely. There is a rock 
there which juts over a bed of soft heather, and there 
ye have roof and carpet, ye see! and what more do a 
Kerry man and lassies need? The morns morning will 
bring the sunlight, and then we '11 over the top of the 
mountain, and on to Lomaneaugh, blithe and gay. Now 
follow my fut, with the hold of the rope, gurrls, and 
ye '11 be as comfortable and paceful as a box of kittens. 
We might be dashed over the precipice to black death 
if we went on, ye know, Mavourneens." 

Obeying him implicitly, they were soon snugly fixed 
under the ledge on the soft, fragrant moss and heather. 
Norah seemed almost like her old self in the little ex- 
citement, until an owl hooted on the rocks above them. 

" It 's an evil banshee ! " she said in terror. 

" It 's only a burd, by mi faith," said Michael. 

" Oh, hone! Oh, hone! " sighed Norah, rocking back 
and forth with the old misery in her heart. *' I heard 
the banshee before Kathleen died; a gentle banshee it 
was, as if she came for one she loved, like, for she 
crooned low and sweet, and she chanted low and sad, 
and the weird wailing and sobbing that it was. And I 
looked out of my window at the back of the house, and 
I thought I saw her in the white mist above the meadow. 
Oh, hone! She has taken my darlint, the light of my 
eyes, away." 

" And how did the banshee look, Norah McCarthy? " 
asked Michael, with a little tremor in his voice, as his 
own sorrow for a moment controlled him. 

" Her long light hair was of gold, I think, and her 
thin white gown much below her feet as she floated 
over the meadow, with the two little hands of her 



42 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

stretched out tinderly as if she were a saint and gave a 
blessing. Ah, my lost darlint! the pride of the village, 
my Colleen bawn ! " and again Nor ah gave up to un- 
controlled weeping. 

For a while the two friends let her sob in the dark 
and silence. Then Michael lifted his face, which his 
hands had covered, and said gently: 

" Norah, why do you believe in the fairy folk and 
the banshee, and pay no heed to God's strong Angels of 
whom Father Skerry tells us ? " 

*' And what Angels?" asked Norah, ceasing her 
sobbing. 

" Why," said Michael, " there was Gabriel, who 
brought the lilies to Mary, and told her of the blissing 
to the world, that was to come through the child Jesus. 
What did a fairy or a Leprechaun ever do for poor 
mortal man, in rale love and kindness? For the fairies 
are only good to those who please them, and most On- 
reasonable beings they seem to be from the story of 
them. My faith! the blessed St. Patrick taught the 
people of the Christ who came into the world to save 
sinners. . . . Did he fear fairies and banshees?" 

" I have n't the larnin' of the books," said Michael, 
'' and I misremember the names of the other strong 
Angels Father Skerry knows about; and it 's not shuper- 
stitious is Father Skerry about fairies and banshees. 
Lave your banshee and her wailing, acushla, and think 
of the Angels of the Resurrection who sat in the tomb, 
and told the people who came, that the Christ who had 
died for them was risen, and was alive again. And that 
means," said Michael, " that all the dead we have loved, 
who have loved and lived the teachings of Jesus Christ, 



ON THE MOUNTAIN 43 

and have salvation through Him, shall live again. And 
we, if we live the life that Jesus taught, and are the 
saved wid Him, shall meet some time. 

" Who but Kathleen," he added with a reverent tone, 
" should be in the Glory of Heaven, wid the angels, 
waiting for you and me, Norah ? " 

"Who but Kathleen?" murmured Norah; "but, 
Michael, tell me the story of Jesus? I do not under- 
stand it quite in the church. The robes, the incense, 
and shure the great music, wilder me, I think. And 
when they show the babby in the manger at Christmas 
time, I cannot understand how one so great and grand 
should be loike a little babby, just loike Tim McGuire's 
wife's babby. I get mixed in me brain, musha, in the 
church. Tell me plain loike about it, Michael." 

And there in the mountain fog, on the heather, under 
the shelving rock, the soul that had learned the truth 
through suffering, taught the simple, suffering soul be- 
side it, the wonderful story of supreme love, and supreme 
sacrifice. From the Angels in the beginning of the life 
human and divine, who sang the " Glory to God in the 
Highest, peace on earth, good-will to man," — through 
all the self-abnegation, the teaching, the loving minis- 
tration, the agony of the sinless soul that bore the 
world's shameful burden of sin, the painful death, — to 
the Angels of the Resurrection, who proclaimed, " He 
who entered into death lives and triumphs over death." 
And in the stillness and dark of the mountains the light 
of truth and love entered into the soul of Norah. 

Fortunately an Irish night in August is short. At 
one o'clock a wind which howled indeed like a malicious 
banshee rushed over the mountain, and swept off the 



44 FELICIELLA'S EASTER 

fog. The three cowering under the rock were glad 
when it wailed itself away. More joyful yet, when in 
pink and pearl the day broke on the mountain top, and 
crept down into the shaded valley, glittering with dia- 
monds which flashed in dewdrops and brooks. 

Once over the rocks at the top, they easily found their 
way by the landmark of the old thatched shed and down 
over gray boulders and thorny whin bushes to the peace- 
ful valley with its cottages and flowering hedgerows, its 
green pastures, and quiet sheep and cattle. By the peat- 
stack they came to a group of sturdy young men gath- 
ered around Father Skerry, discussing plans for scouring 
the mountain in search of the wanderers. In breathless 
surprise, they saw the long silent Norah go up to Father 
Skerry and say: 

" Father, Kathleen is with our dear Lord. It is me- 
self longs to live the good life and meet her. The Lord 
who was dead and is alive again in the Heaven has 
made the way clear to us." 

The young men bared their heads and bowed them. 

" Amen," said Father Skerry. 

" And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, 
and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor 
crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the 
former things are passed away." 



ON EASTER DAY 



T 



HE noble heart so just and true! 
The loving life so blameless! 
Be pitiful, O God," we sue, 
To loss and grief so nameless." 



The sweet spring green, the lilies sheen, 
Which by the altar glimmer. 

Chide death, with hope of life serene: 
Yet eyes with tears grow dimmer. 

Earth bound, we hear not in our songs 

Of Easter promise holy. 
The seraph echoes sweet and strong 

Of Hallelujahs solely. 

Which welcome to eternal joy 
The faithful soul and stainless. 

Where peace divine without alloy 
And Christ he loved his gain is. 

Breathe Hallelujahs low and sweet. 
Earth's sighing turned to singing: 

While faith, effacing self, complete 
Through tears its triumphs bringing. 



45 



FEB 10 1903 



icopvoa mtA\ 

FEB. M 1903 



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FFP 13 1^03 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




015 937 031 8 






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